


Mandrake

by LestatDeSade



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Explicit Language, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, guns and knives, inappropriate use of ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LestatDeSade/pseuds/LestatDeSade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, at this point it’s almost as if you’re asking me to hurt you.” <br/>“And if I am?” <br/>“I’ll make you regret it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mandrake

“I can’t believe…. I’m not putting up w-with this, farce!” Diederich exclaimed. He was standing in Vincent’s dorm in blue house, which was technically now where Diederich got stuck because as the blue house’s prefect’s fag, he was technically now student of blue house, and of green house.

“A promise is a promise, and you promised me,” Vincent told him. “After all, this is an institution of learning and I do believe that I have taught you a valuable lesson in all of this- don’t write a check that your sorry ass can’t cash.”   
  
“You must have cheated!” Diederich protested.

“I did no such thing. I am simply far more athletic than you initially thought, and so you made a wager you never entertained the thought of losing, and now that you’ve lost, you’re angry at yourself and you’re taking it on me, which is really quite unfair, after all- I’m not the one who sucks at cricket.”

“You,” Diederich said, the tone of his voice was low and dangerous. So, alright, Vincent had gone a bit far in rubbing proverbial salt in Diederich’s wounds. He didn’t suck at cricket, he just wasn’t as good at it as Vincent, or hell, anyone else in blue house. Which actually, was pretty hard to accomplish since half of the blue house team had never even played cricket or prepared for the game, feeling like there was no sense in trying to win a battle they lost every year. Yet, somehow, by some miracle, which Vincent didn’t cheat on, they won anyways. Against the guys who had been training for years for the damn game. He tried to punch Vincent, but Vincent had caught him by the wrist, thankfully, before he hit him square in the face. It would have been a real shame if he went home to Rachel with a bruise.

“Ah, now, thats not a nice thing to do,” Vincent said as he held onto his wrist tightly.   
  
“Let go,” Diederich said. Vincent still held his wrists tightly, the tips of fingernails were now diggin into Diederich’s lower arm.   
  
“You were going to hit me,” Vincent said.   
  
“You earned it.”  
  
“Hm… such a bad boy you are, perhaps you’re in for another lesson,” Vincent said.   
  
“Pray tell, what is that?” Diederich asked, rolling his eyes.   
  
“A lesson in betting. So let me throw another deal at you,” Vincent said. Diederich rolled his eyes and sighed. “Now, now, don’t be hasty. Let’s have a new contest- if you can actually beat me in a match of fisticuffs, then I will gladly let you go.”

“You want to get into a fist fight with me?” Diederich said. He covered his smiling mouth with a hand. Vincent sighed and looked at him. Oh, that poor, unsuspecting fool.

“Yes, and the fight doesn’t end until someone says they surrender,” Vincent said. He took off his uniform coat and put it over the chair.

“I really hope your sister won’t come to beat me up too!” Diederich snarked, letting out a low laugh. He also removed his jacket, then folded it and set it on the seat.

“Don’t laugh Dee, she’s tougher than I am.”

“I would bet so,” Diederich laughed. Vincent just sighed and looked at him. He wasn’t stupid, but he really needed to stop underestimating the power of the Phantomhive earldom. It would land Diederich nowhere but a very painful place if he kept this up.

“Shall we begin?” Vincent asked, sounding quite exasperated. He stood facing Diederich, who stood in a typical fighting stance, ready to take any hits Vincent might make to his person. How useless. Vincent stood in front of him, hands down and casually looking at him as though he really wasn’t taking this fight seriously.

“Certainly,” Diederich said.

Within a second, he was on the floor. Out of nowhere, Vincent came at him with a knee to his stomach. He grabbed Diederich by the shoulders, kneed him in the abdomen just below his solar plexus, and let him drop to the floor. All of this even quicker than it would have taken for most people to blink. Not a spare sarcastic gesture, not even a small twitch indicating what he was about to do. So quick that Diederich swore he could hear the fabric of the man’s pant leg make a snapping sound from the speed. Where the hell did anyone learn a move like that? Vincent was like some kind of ninja mercenary. Normal school boys didn’t know how to fight like that. Diederich lay on the floor, curled up in terrible pain. Vincent stood above him with a sarcastic smile on his face. It was the worst fight, in well, probably weston college’s history, if not the history of the entire english empire.

“You didn’t even get in a single hit,” Vincent said, prodding him with his foot. He let out a groan. Oh come on, Vincent didn’t get him that hard. Or at least, he could have kneed him much harder, perhaps to the point of organ damage, but decided not to, if only because he needed him alive.

“Do you surrender?” Vincent asked.   
  
“Fuck off, Phantomhive!” Diederich yowled.

“You really do have horrible manners, don’t you?” Vincent asked. He knelt down and took hold of the collar of Diederich’s shirt and yanked him up on his knees.

“Don’t test me,” Diederich threatened. It was a stupid and empty threat.   
  
“I’ve tested you. I won, and you failed, well, you’re even worse at fighting than at sports. I don’t know how a strong guy like you is so bad at this,” Vincent said. Then again, had Diederich gotten into a fight anyone else, he probably would have won easily, and Vincent probably wasn’t stronger than he was. The key to his victory was more in knowledge and technique. While other students were studying, Vincent was out late out at night getting into knife and gun fights with the filthiest, bloodthirstiest bastards in the country. He knew how to inflict real damage, the kind that cripples men for life, the kind that leaves them wishing for death. Diederich probably just knew how to exercise all day and light weights, but Vincent knew how to kill. And you don’t have to be strong to kill. You have be smart, and even smarter to make a career of it.

“Go to hell,” Diederich told him. He was really humiliated by this whole ordeal. This was probably the first time in his life he ever had his own ass handed to him, and to top it off, he had it handed to him by none other than his worst enemy. Vincent was so glad to have made this secondary deal. Watching Diederich suffer like this, physically, and emotionally was quite the two-for-one deal.

“Are you going to beg me for mercy?” Vincent asked him. He held Diederich’s face in his hand, making him look at Vincent directly.   
  
“No,” he said, and with a swift turn of his jaw, bit the fleshy part of Vincent’s hand hard. Vincent tried to yank his hand back, but he bit down harder. He really was like a dog, wasn’t he? His teeth were sharp. Vincent yanked on his hair and Diederich let go. Blood trickled from his lip down his chin, he looked at Vincent with a smug smile on his face. Vincent backhanded him and held him by the throat, squeezing hard around his neck.   
  
“So help me, if you don’t want me to really hurt you, you’ll do what I say and put your arms behind your back,” Vincent told him, almost growling. He held Diederich’s neck with his good hand, and took the pistol out of his pocket with the bloodied up one. His hand was dripping blood everywhere. Still, Diederich was scared enough to know better than to try and make a get away after that.

“Like this?” he asked. He was leaning forward with his hands behind his back. He stared at the gun in Vincent’s hand with wide, scared eyes. He wouldn’t know whether or not it was loaded, but that was really part of the fun. From a narrative standpoint, yeah, that gun was loaded, why would the queen’s watchdog hold a gun that didn’t have a full amount of bullets in it?

“Perfect,” Vincent said.   
  
“What is it exactly, that you want from me?” Diederich asked.   
  
“For you learn how to obey me, basically,” Vincent said. He set the gun on the bed, still within view of Diederich and still close enough for Vincent to grab. He took off his own tie and used it to tie Diederich’s wrists together with a knot. It wasn’t as good as rope, but it would take long enough to get out of that if he even tried to, Diederich would have the pistol pointed at his temple before he got the silk off his hands.

“And now,” Vincent said, taking Diederich’s tie off. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and tied the tie directly around his neck, like he would tie a makeshift noose of silk. He tightened it around Diederich’s throat, the silk hugging it tightly.

“You’re going to strangle me! I don’t want to die like this!”

“Sssh now, I choke myself all the time when I masturbate in the shower. It’s completely safe and it feels really good,” Vincent told him.   
  
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t tell me about things like that!”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean, if you’re not choking yourself while you’re getting off, you’re really not spending this time to it’s fullest potential.”  
  
“You have a sick mind,” Diederich growled; his voice was full of contempt.

“You know, if you just said ‘I surrender’, all of this will end, I’ll untie you and I won’t do or say anything else perverse to you. But if you insist on being this stubborn, then I’m really going to fuck you up,” Vincent told him. This was his one ticket out.   
  
“I don’t take orders from you,” Diederich said. He wasn’t taking it. Well okay, if he wanted to be stubborn like that, then Vincent wasn’t going to hold any reservations on really fucking with him.   
  
“Lean back,” Vincent told him. True to his word, Diederich did not move, but then Vincent reached into his pocket and pull out a small knife. He unfolded the blade and held it up. This was effective. Diederich complied, but he looked worried. Which was a good thing, because he really should have been. Vincent sat on his legs, while Diederich lay on his own arms, unable to move very much. It was a very effective way of getting him to lay still. Vincent almost wanted to beat the tar out of him with his fist right there, but he could punch Diederich any tie. This time, he wanted to torment him in a more prolonged, humiliating manner.

“Do you want to surrender?” Vincent asked. He held the knife to the other man’s cheek and drew it down. Diederich was wincing and bleeding. He’d be repaying blood with blood.

“Hell no.”

“I’m going to have to really torment you, aren’t I?” Vincent asked.

He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked or pleased by this stubbornness. He cut another thin down Diederich’s collarbone with the knife, and another just below it. Shallow cuts, just enough to break the skin, but not deep enough to scar or cause any real damage. Just enough to remind him that Vincent could cut deeper any time that he wanted to. Vincent cut down the length of his shirt with the knife. He left slashes across his torso from where he got the sloppy, the shirt barely covered Diederich’s chest in red soaked shreds. He was breathing hard, but he still looked up at Vincent like he was expecting worse and ready for it. Vincent leaned down, the knife still in his hand and licked the blood that was running down his cheek. The blood now was dripping off his lips. He was hoping it would leave a scar. He was looking forward to making him walk out of this dorm room with his clothes shreed, and his face cut up. Limping and covered in his own blood.

“Don’t you dare bite me,” Vincent warned him before giving him a quick kiss. He yanked on the tie, it tightened around Diederich’s throat, making it hard to breath.

“You are truly depraved,” Diederich said. His voice was barely louder than a whimper at this point. He was still holding onto the cool facade, though. It was wet and slippery and it was going to fall any minute now.   
  
“We can stop at any time, all you have to do is admit to your defeat,” Vincent said. Most people would have ran out of the room the second he pulled out a gun. Diederich was made out of tougher, if not slightly more demented stuff than that.

“I’m not telling you to stop, am I? Doesn’t that really make me the one in charge, here?”

“My, my, from the sounds of that, it’s almost as if you’re encouraging me.”  
  
“And if I am?”  
  
“I’ll make you regret it,” Vincent said. He yanked on the silk noose for dramatic effect.

Vincent had decided to take a new approach. He set the knife down. Vincent kept his nails unusually long for a man. Some people asked why he kept his nails long and well manicured. Well, the reason was that, in case of dire emergency, should he not have any weapons available to him, Vincent made sure that his nails could function as rudimentary knives. Dull, but useful. In any case, he could leave wounds that stung and wouldn’t heal quickly. The dullness of them made it sting like hell. He feel Diederich’s breathing harder just from running his sharpened fingertips down his torso time and time again. Tears were welling up in his eyes, and he was biting onto his his tongue, trying not to make a sound.

Vincent was already halfway there. Blood and flesh was caked underneath his nails, staining the tips of them red like a lacquer. He started from the collar bone down to the hip bones, across Diederich’s toned abs and chest, making jagged cuts with dull implements. He looked like he was about to pass out at anytime soon. He was trying to breath hard and deeply, but Vincent could tell from his flushed face that Diederich wasn’t going to last much longer without passing out. Still, he continued, because he wasn’t forming words, just breathing hard; and Vincent told him, quite directly, and several times that he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.

“Please, Vincent,” Diederich pleaded. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes and he looked like a kicked puppy. He was all red and sore, and probably bruised. He’d be feeling this for a long time.

“Please what?” Vincent asked. He stared down at Diederich like he was trying to say, think carefully on how you phrase this, if you want to live.   
  
“Forgive me.” It’s not what he wanted to hear, not exactly. Yet Vincent realized that as far as lessons go, he had already done well enough at teaching this one. It was highly unlikely that Diederich would ever forget this particular evening. Vincent knew that sure as hell he wouldn’t be forgetting this one anytime soon. He was half tempted to get out his expensive camera gear and take southerner picture, but he wasn’t so sure. He knew he’d still be receiving more chances for better photographic arrangements.

“You’re forgiven.”  
  
Vincent quickly untied the tie from Diederich’s neck and undid the one on his wrists. Vincent wouldn’t say anything to him, he was just admiring the view. He admired the damage. His wrists were all red and had crease lines marked around them. Vincent couldn’t see him struggling out of them, but the proof was right there. Not to mention the tie that was being used as a noose was now coated in blood, Diederich’s neck looked like it was almost entirely sure to bruise, a bruise had already formed in his stomach. Not mention that he was all cut up and torn in places. He looked like he had gotten into a knife fight, and lost spectacularly.

Diederich stood up, with his legs shaking the entire time as he walked over to retrieve his waistcoat and school coat. Vincent sat on his bed and watched him try to redress with a smile. Diederich looked like he had regained his composure. Vincent know that he was a better actor than what anyone could have expected. Diederich slipped on the green waist coat and buttoned it over his bloody shirt. He then put on the black uniform coat and buttoned them. He fixed the collar of his shirt then best he could, given that Vincent had laid it to utter waste. Some of the blood was still visible, but it was finals week. The rest of the student body would be too tired to notice, but Vincent would, and he’d smirk just at the thought of it.

 


End file.
